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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348272">The Boy on the Beach</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/inked_in_indigo/pseuds/inked_in_indigo'>inked_in_indigo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Broadchurch, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plotty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:33:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/inked_in_indigo/pseuds/inked_in_indigo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Sergeant Harry Potter, well-liked and up-and-coming officer in the cozy seaside village of Godric's Hollow, has just had his expected promotion pulled from under his nose by one DI Tom Riddle, 'seconded' over from London to lie low following unproven accusations of police corruption.</p><p>Harry now has to work with this callous and arrogant outsider to solve a horrific murder, but getting to the truth of the matter may just tear this close-knit community apart.</p><p>A Broadchurch AU/Fusion.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Boy on the Beach</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>…this is not the holiday fic 2020 needs, but it’s what my brain wanted to spit out.</p><p>First, my eternal gratitude to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1219/pseuds/Artemis1219">Artemis1219</a> for the meat of the brainstorming here.  It was my silly prompt, but a large portion of the details and fleshing-out of plot elements are down to her.  I’m also pretty sure I can take no credit for the structure of this chapter, as it very heavily tracks the first half of episode 1 of Broadchurch (a couple of lines are lifted straight from it), although it’s meant to depart from the Chibnall storyline as a matter of plot/character necessity soon enough.</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">—Harry—</p><p class="p2">Harry is fuming.</p><p class="p2">“Harry, I know you’re upset, but you need to look past the immediate here.This came from way above Moody’s head,” Hermione placates, holding out a cup of tea, as if they’re still at Hogwarts and she’s simply talking him through another of Snape’s ridiculous and totally unwarranted punishments.</p><p class="p2">“He promised me they’d wait until I got back from my bereavement leave to even begin talking about filling the position.”Harry pointedly does not take the proffered cup.</p><p class="p2">“Yes, but—”</p><p class="p2">“It was <em>Sirius’s fucking funeral!</em>” He shouts, slamming his fists down on the iron railing of the station’s second-floor balcony.“I had to take the leave—”</p><p class="p2">“Yes, of course you did,” Hermione starts, but Harry hasn’t finished.</p><p class="p2">“And I was gone for <em>four bloody days</em>!Who the <em>fuck</em> moves that quickly?”</p><p class="p2">“—and those ponces up at HQ are right bastards,” Hermione finishes perfectly evenly, without batting an eyelash at Harry’s steadily rising voice.“They probably saw how young you are and thought they could walk right over you.”</p><p class="p2">“What, is that meant to make me feel any better?Sod my age, I’m the best this station has got for this.You know it, I know it, Moody fucking knows it.And they pick some prick from God knows where, who doesn’t know the lay of the land, who doesn’t know the people or the way we work—” he scowls at the balmy shoreline, the blatantly cheerful sunshine mocking him.</p><p class="p2">“Then look at it this way.You’re young, and Riddle won’t be here for long.You know they rolled him out here from London because he was implicated in that huge corruption scandal that got Fudge kicked out?”</p><p class="p2">Harry pauses, the beginnings of his tirade neatly derailed.The name rings a bell.“What,<em> that</em> Riddle?From the Met?”</p><p class="p2">“It isn’t really a common name, Harry.How many Riddles in the police force can you think of?”</p><p class="p2">“You’re saying I’ve had my promotion stolen by a fucking London <em>bent copper</em>?”He pauses, something niggling at his brain.“Wait, wasn’t he a DCI?I think I remember reading that.”He stares at her, slack-jawed.“He was <em>demoted </em>into my job?How’d they manage to swing that?”</p><p class="p2">“I don’t know.He’s on secondment, officially.And also, officially, not bent,” Hermione corrects, raising her own mug to her lips to take a sip.She shoves the still-steaming mug of tea in his face, its contents swilling dangerously.It’s peppermint. </p><p class="p2">“Harry, I need you to take this tea from me so that I have a free hand available to pluck my hair out of my face,” she says calmly, though Harry recognizes the edge of impatience there.The sea breeze always blows her hair into a frizzy mess, even when she has it tied back in a pony tail.“Either that, or I need you to pick the flyaways out of my mouth for me.”</p><p class="p2">Harry rolls his eyes and finally accepts the mug from her. </p><p class="p2">“Thank you.If he’d actually been found guilty of anything, he’d have been decommissioned and would be facing jail time,” Hermione continues without missing a beat, “but there wasn’t nearly enough evidence against him that wasn’t all circumstantial… even if it looked really bad, they didn’t have anything.I think some of his associates did get bagged, but none of them would say a single word against him.”She pauses to take a sip of her tea. </p><p class="p2">Harry raises his eyebrows.“And yet they’re sure he must have been involved?”</p><p class="p2">“Seems so; otherwise they wouldn’t have sent him down here and shoehorned him into a job he’s overqualified for.”She frowns.“I’m not even sure that there <em>are</em> proper channels and procedures for transferring a DCI into a DI position for something like this where they’ve no proof of wrongdoing or anything else against him, so whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad…</p><p class="p2">“In any case, from what the London investigative team gathered from the circumstantial evidence, it just made the most sense, from what I’ve been given to understand.Apparently, he’d been about to get promoted to Superintendent before it all came out—there were even whispers he was going to run for public office—but it’s all being put on hold until he’s done lying low out here.Could be for as little as a year; then he’ll swan off back to the Met, and they’ll slot you right in for DI here.You’ll just have to play nice with him until then.”</p><p class="p2">Harry narrows his eyes suspiciously at her.“And where’re you getting all your information from this time, then?”</p><p class="p2">“I have my sources,” she replies serenely, a smile touching the corners of her lips.</p><p class="p2">“Since when does a forensics officer need sources?”</p><p class="p2">She meets Harry’s eyes with a delicately arched eyebrow.“What, am I not allowed?”</p><p class="p2">“You just asked that old university boyfriend, didn’t you?What was his name, Cream?”</p><p class="p2">“Don’t be silly, no one’s actually called <em>Cream</em>.And no, actually.Someone else this time.”</p><p class="p2">Harry rolls his eyes.“All right, then, keep your secrets.”</p><p class="p2">“Yes, I think I will,” she quips with a small smile.</p><p class="p2">“So why ‘as little as a year,’ then?”Harry blows carefully at his tea, then raises it to his lips for a sip.Too weak, as usual, but it’s always been Hermione’s way: pour the hot water into the mug, wait exactly thirty seconds, and then fish out the teabag.It’s an awful waste of good tea leaves, in Harry’s humble opinion.</p><p class="p2">“I expect that whatever Whitehall bureaucrats are backing Riddle decided that he’d benefit from some time out of the limelight after it all came out, especially considering how meteoric his rise was.Maybe even hoped he’d have a chance to endear himself to the boring masses out here, sign up for some fetching photo-ops with our romantic seaside views and all that.”</p><p class="p2">“Why should a disgraced police officer do something like that?” Harry asks, glancing at Hermione askance.</p><p class="p2">“You haven’t seen what he looks like, then?”</p><p class="p2">“What’s that got to do with it?”</p><p class="p2">Hermione scowls.“More than it should.”She sips at her tea moodily, then glances down at her watch.“That’s my break over, Harry.I’m sorry this is the news you had to come back to, and so soon after Sirius, too.”She offers him a one-armed embrace, and he has to hold his mug of tea awkwardly out to one side to return it.</p><p class="p2">“Yeah, me too.Thanks, Hermione.”</p><p class="p2">She pulls back and smiles weakly at him.“Go take a walk, get some air or something.I’m sure Moody won’t begrudge you an extra fifteen minutes, given the circumstances.”</p><p class="p2">“Yeah, I haven’t got anything ongoing that’s urgent,” he muses.“Maybe I’ll nip out to the place across the way.Give Gin a call, see how that sports day is going with the boys.”</p><p class="p2">He doesn’t get a chance to call Ginny, as it turns out, because as soon as he gets out of the station building and makes it over to the café across the way (which offers much better coffee than the sludge available in the canteen), he’s being buzzed.</p><p class="p2">“Got something for you, Sarge,” MacMillan’s voice comes through on his mobile.“Body on the beach; we’ve sent forensics ahead, and the new DI’s on his way already.Wanted you, too.”</p><p class="p2">“A <em>body</em>?On the beach?” Harry asks, wrinkling his nose and stepping out of the queue.“Don’t tell me some idiot tourist went wandering along the cliffs for a nighttime stroll and fell.”Godric’s Hollow is known for its pristine beaches and beautiful sea cliffs, and gets plenty of tourism thanks to it, but no one ever mentions in the glossy brochures and travel guides that the scenic cliffs, with their breathtaking views of the water, can be dangerous, especially without railings or fences; there are just too many miles of cliffside for the county to maintain, though groups have been lobbying for it for years now.</p><p class="p2">“Dunno about that, but I wouldn’t be surprised,” MacMillan replies, nonchalant.“Wish it weren’t so on your first day back from bereavement, Sarge, but that’s what they told me to tell you.”</p><p class="p2">“All right, thanks, Ern.”</p><p class="p2">Harry hangs up and walks woodenly to his car, his mouth dry.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">—Ginny—</p><p class="p2">Ginny wakes late on the day of the sports festival and curses.</p><p class="p2">She forgoes her shower, instead running a brush hastily through her hair as she tosses on the first dress she finds (thrown over the hamper and possibly more than a day worn), then rushes down the stairs to find Draco calmly sipping coffee at the kitchen table.</p><p class="p2">“Morning, Gin,” he greets placidly, and gestures to the steaming mug on her side of the table.</p><p class="p2">“Thanks,” she replies, and reaches automatically for the mug to take a grateful sip.It’s perfect, as usual—Draco always insists on using a thermometer to measure the water temperature to an exact ninety-six degrees, which apparently returns the best flavor in a pour-over or something—and she instantly feels more human.</p><p class="p2">“You should’ve woken me,” she needles, nudging at his bony ankle with a slippered foot.</p><p class="p2">“I did,” Draco replies, glancing over at his phone as it pings.</p><p class="p2">“No, you didn’t.”</p><p class="p2">“I did.You told me to piss off.”He taps open to the messages screen and frowns.</p><p class="p2">“What’s wrong?”She cranes her neck to see.</p><p class="p2">“Dursley’s going to be late picking me up.”He angles the phone at her, rolling his eyes, but she only makes out the faint blue and gray of the text bubbles.</p><p class="p2">She hums in mild sympathy and drops her forearms against his shoulders so she can rest her chin against the top of his head.“I thought he’s been working out all right?Harry did warn that he wasn’t the brightest, I suppose.”</p><p class="p2">“Yeah, even Potter’d have had to see that with this one.Where he even found him…” he shakes his head.</p><p class="p2">“But nothing bad though, right?You were saying you needed someone to do the grunt work for the new cottages going up along the eastern stretch.”</p><p class="p2">“Well, he hasn’t been a nightmare, I guess… though I’ve only been willing to trust him with heavy lifting and transport so far, and Ron does most of the dealing with him.He gets along well enough with Finnegan and Thomas, though.Your brother’s just pleased to have someone else act as the butt of all their jokes, I think.”He runs a pale hand down over his face, and she can see from her angle that there’s a frown marring his forehead.It’s been a more common fixture there in recent months as he’s worked on expanding the business, and every time she sees it, she feels a stab of guilt. </p><p class="p2">It’s quickly becoming far more familiar a feeling than she would prefer.</p><p class="p2">Draco had essentially thrown his entire future away for her when they were only teenagers.He has made so many sacrifices in all these intervening years.</p><p class="p2">When she had first realized, at just a few months shy of sixteen, that she had missed her period one time too many, they had both spent about a week in a panicked haze.She had had to beg Draco to at least tell her own parents, if not his, because she’d known, even at that age, that a teenage pregnancy wasn’t something they could deal with on their own. </p><p class="p2">Thinking back on it now, it had been utterly mad, making the decisions they made at just sixteen and seventeen, Draco aiming for Oxbridge and Ginny not even sat her GCSEs yet.Their decision to keep the baby had cut a swift end to all of that.McGonagall had looked down at her with the deepest resignation when she’d broken the news that she would be taking a break from her education (and with it, her aspirations for football) when the baby was born.</p><p class="p2">They had come up with a plan, though.Ron had always wanted to go into real estate, and the Weasleys have been in Godric’s Hollow for as long as anyone remembers the little town existing.Draco grew up surrounded by his father’s London business associates and thought he had an idea of how the industry functioned.It was shaky, but they had all the blind arrogance and unfettered optimism of seventeen-year-old boys.</p><p class="p2">It had still come as a shock when Draco’s father tossed a wad of cash at him and then disowned him.</p><p class="p2">They never speak of Lucius Malfoy anymore, though she knows that Draco will meet his mother for tea every once in a while.Ginny is sometimes invited, and, she thinks, even sometimes liked.Narcissa is meant to be coming down from London to see them in a few weeks, and Draco already has a table booked in a restaurant over in Bournemouth for the occasion.</p><p class="p2">“You should get going soon, Gin,” Draco says, nudging her out of her thoughts.“You’ll have missed set-up at this point, I think, but you’ll still be in time to referee the football.Scorp’ll be livid if you manage to be late to that.”</p><p class="p2">She picks her chin up off his head and sticks her tongue out at him even though he can’t see, given that he’s faced away from her.It’s Scorpius’s big day: the school team will be splitting up into smaller cohorts to scrimmage, and Scorp, on reserve until just recently, is ecstatic to have been selected as a left midfielder for his team.As the girls’ football coach over at Hogwarts, Ginny has volunteered to referee the match.</p><p class="p2">“Don’t forget to eat something,” Draco reminds her through an exaggerated yawn.</p><p class="p2">“Yeah, you’re right.”She stretches and ambles over to the fruit bowl over on the kitchen counter to pluck out a banana, then pauses.</p><p class="p2">“Scorp’s not taken his lunch with him,” she remarks, frowning and trying to remember the last time such a thing happened, but she comes up blank.“This must be a first.”</p><p class="p2">“He must’ve been too excited about the match and forgotten,” Draco mutters over his coffee, rolling his eyes.He pushes his chair back with a grunt.</p><p class="p2">“All right, Dursley’ll be arriving to be picking me up soon.I’ll catch you up at the match as soon as I’m done checking the cottages on the western stretch are ready for occupancy; the first big wave of summer bookings will all be arriving within the next week.”He throws back the rest of his coffee, drops the mug in the sink, and picks up a sponge.“You go on, I’ll do the washing up.”</p><p class="p2">“Thanks, love.”She presses a quick kiss to his cheek, grabs Scorpius’s lunch, and rushes out the door with a spring in her step.</p><p class="p3">—</p><p class="p2">There’s a three-legged race on when Ginny arrives at football field, children tripping over each other and shrieking with laughter.Colin Creevey is taking photos of Teddy Lupin and Victoire throwing their arms up in some silly pose, probably for the local paper, and an endlessly patient Lavender Brown is handing out little paper cups of water to parched, sweaty children under a festively decorated tent.</p><p class="p2">“Ginny!”</p><p class="p2">“Oh, Luna—I mean, Ms. Lovegood, I should say,” Ginny starts to greet wth a smile, then falters slightly.“Is everything all right, Luna?”</p><p class="p2">Luna looks unusually serious, her silvery eyes sharp.“Did you not bring Scorpius with you?” She asks, laying a gentle hand on Ginny’s arm.</p><p class="p2">“No, I brought his lunch; he forgot it at home.”She pauses.“What do you mean—is he not here?”</p><p class="p2">Luna shakes her head, eyes still heavy with that grave expression.</p><p class="p2">Ginny frowns, thinking quickly.Something strange settles in her stomach.“Just gimme a mo’,” she says, flashing Luna something approximating a smile.</p><p class="p2">She calls Scorpius’s mobile, but it goes straight to voicemail, and she leaves a message.</p><p class="p2">She rings Hagrid.</p><p class="p2">“’Lo, Ginny?”</p><p class="p2">“Hey, Hagrid,” she greets, trying to keep her tone light.“How are you?I’m just calling to make sure Scorp did his paper run this morning?”</p><p class="p2">“Ah, no, he didn’t,” Hagrid replies, voice coming in tinny through the mobile.“I’d bin meanin’ ter ring yeh ‘bout that, Ginny, but yeh know how busy things get ‘round ‘ere with the mornin’ rush.Yeh mean he ain’t taken sick?” </p><p class="p2">Ginny swallows, that unnamable feeling—she <em>refuses</em> to name it—twisting in her chest and threatening to crawl up her throat.</p><p class="p2">There’s a pause on the other end of the line when she doesn’t get her voice under control quickly enough to answer.“I thought he must’a come down with summat and stayed home.Everythin’ all righ’, Ginny?”She can hear a hint of concern in Hagrid’s voice now.</p><p class="p2">“N-no—I mean, yeah, I…I’m just not sure where he is right now,” she replies finally, her voice uneven.“Thanks, Hagrid, I’ll just—” she hangs up without saying goodbye.</p><p class="p2">Her call to Draco rings out and puts her straight through to voicemail, and then she tries Ron, but he doesn’t pick up either.“I’ve left Draco a message, but you need to tell him he needs to call me right away,” she babbles quickly after the tone, vaguely aware that there’s something not quite right with her voice.</p><p class="p2">She sees a flash of sandy brown out of the corner of her eye. </p><p class="p2">“Ted!”The boy doesn’t stop walking.“TEDDY!”Ginny shouts.</p><p class="p2">He turns around.“Wotcher, Aunt Gin!Are you here to see our match?Did you bring Scorp with you?”</p><p class="p2">Something twists in her stomach.“You mean you haven’t seen him?”</p><p class="p2">Teddy shakes his head, brown eyes wide.</p><p class="p2">Ginny frowns to herself, squeezes the hand not clutching her phone around the strap of her tote bag tight enough to dig her nails into the flesh of her palm, then gives herself a shake.She breaks for her car at a run. </p><p class="p2">Perhaps Scorpius really is sick; he could well still be in bed—all alone at home, running a fever, maybe.She hadn’t even bothered to check his room before she left the house, which was silly, but he always complains at the top of his voice when he’s feeling ill, so she’d no reason to, she thinks as she turns out of the car park.</p><p class="p2">Of course, the roads are jammed, the cars at a standstill for as far as she can see down.</p><p class="p2">She calls the house, but it rings out to voicemail.“Scorp, honey?”She says into the phone. </p><p class="p2">(That thing that’s off with her voice, it’s fear, she thinks, or maybe desperation or maybe both, and she’ll scare Scorpius when he hears it over the phone but she doesn’t care, as long as he’s <em>at home—</em>)</p><p class="p2">“Scorpius, are you there?Can you hear me?It’s mum, I need you to pick up right now if you’re there.”She pauses to give him time to come to the phone.If he’s sick, he’ll be moving slowly.A couple of beats go by.</p><p class="p2">“You’re not in trouble, sweetie, I promise, I—I just need to know where you are.”She stays on the line, waiting almost five whole minutes, but nothing happens—<em>no Scorpius</em>—and she hangs up, biting her lip so hard it starts to go numb.The cars are all still stopped.</p><p class="p2">She thumbs through her messages: nothing from Draco or Ron yet.She tries Draco again; no answer.She shoots texts to Dean and Seamus, and even to Dudley Dursley: <em>tell draco to give me a ring pls</em></p><p class="p2">Meanwhile, the traffic still hasn’t moved, and she can see people starting to get out of their cars farther down the way, hands on their hips and some making to walk forward towards the source of the jam.Ginny gets out, too, and wanders up to a car with its window rolled down.</p><p class="p2">“Excuse me, d’you have any idea what’s happened?” She asks a tired-looking woman.</p><p class="p2">“Someone said the police are at the beach,” the woman answers, looking harried and glancing quickly at her watch, then back up at Ginny.“They say they might have found a body.”</p><p class="p2">Ginny looks up towards where the shoreline is blocked off by the back-up of cars and trucks.</p><p class="p2">There’s a peculiar ringing in her ears.</p><p class="p2">She starts to run.</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">—Harry—</p><p class="p2">They’ve cordoned off a good stretch of shore, and Harry has to wind his way around an obnoxious number of nosy beach-going onlookers before he can get a good view of the scene.He still has to shove his way unceremoniously past a thin and bony biddy and her ancient-looking dog with a hastily muttered apology before he can flash his badge to the PC manning the cordon.</p><p class="p2">There’s a slim silhouette standing over a prone form.A too-small form. </p><p class="p2"><em>No</em>, Harry thinks, not a child, please, not here, not in Godric’s Hollow, of all places.</p><p class="p2">Swallowing down the bile building at the back of his throat, he breaks into a run, his trainers kicking sand up into the legs of his trousers, and the details start to resolve themselves into focus: the silhouette into a tall, slender man with dark hair; and the body into a…</p><p class="p2">A shock of platinum-blond hair against pale skin, a sickeningly familiar lime-green jumper hugging its small frame.</p><p class="p2">Harry freezes.“Oh, God, no… no, <em>no—</em>”</p><p class="p2">The man with dark hair looks up in his direction and, frowning, mutters something at the attending PC.Harry thinks in a bizarre moment, through the horror flooding his brain, that yes, this is Detective (erstwhile Chief) Inspector Tom Riddle; he’s seen this man’s haughty sneer before in the paper or on telly or online or somewhere else before.But then his eyes snap back to the body on the sand, and it’s as if his limbs are seizing up, and suddenly it’s like he’s having trouble moving correctly.</p><p class="p2">“You’re DS Harry Potter,” Riddle says crisply, with a smug twist of his lips, as if he isn’t standing over the body of a dead boy, as if it isn’t <em>Scorpius’s body lying there lifeless on the beach</em>—and oh, God, <em>Ginny—</em>and Draco, and Molly, and Arthur, and—</p><p class="p2">“Dear God, that’s my…” Harry croaks, unable to finish the sentence.He tries again.“That’s—I know that boy,” he stumbles towards the body, his feet like lead but somehow still pushing forward, even as his brain rails at him to stop, to—</p><p class="p2">“Calm <em>down</em>, officer,” Riddle interrupts sharply, but Harry can’t calm down, can’t stop; he reaches out his hands as he approaches, and Riddle steps out to block off his path—</p><p class="p2">“No, you don’t understand, it’s—his name’s Scorpius, it’s Scorp, he’s my—”</p><p class="p2">“<em>DS Potter.</em>”Riddle is standing in front of him suddenly—Christ, he’s tall—and he’s holding Harry back, his hands heavy on Harry’s shoulders.</p><p class="p2">“He’s my—”</p><p class="p2">“I don’t care who he is to you; shut it <em>off.</em>You’re working now.”</p><p class="p2">Riddle hasn’t shouted, but Harry flinches back at the dark, icy <em>something</em> in his tone that he can’t quite put a name to.Riddle lets go of his shoulders and steps back.</p><p class="p2">“DI Tom Riddle,” he says, and actually has the audacity to extend his hand as if expecting Harry to shake it, <em>as if this is the time for introductions when Scorpius’s body is lying lifeless on the beach.</em></p><p class="p2">“I know, you got my job,” Harry accuses hollowly, his eyes still frozen on the boy’s still form, unable to move away.</p><p class="p2">Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Riddle raise a dark eyebrow, the corner of his lip quirking just a touch. </p><p class="p2">“Really?You want to do that right now?” Riddle asks, sly amusement lacing his voice.“I was under the impression you were busy losing your head over a dead boy, but of course, I’d be happy to hear your grievances if that helps you get yourself under control.”</p><p class="p2">“Wha—losing my head over a—how <em>dare</em> you, you absolute <em>wanker—</em>”</p><p class="p2">“Really, Detective Sergeant, we’re barely two minutes in, and this level of insubordination already?”</p><p class="p2">“<em>HE’S MY BEST FRIEND’S SON!HE’S MY GODSON’S BEST FRIEND!</em>”Harry roars.</p><p class="p2">Riddle, completely unperturbed, has the gall to roll his eyes.“And you are now his case officer.<em>Shut it off</em>.”His voice is suddenly like iron, all traces of his earlier malignant teasing gone, dark eyes flashing under furrowed brows. </p><p class="p2">The two men watch each other, tense, Harry’s teeth gritted so hard his jaw hurts, Riddle with his chin tilted back so that he’s staring down his ridiculously straight nose at Harry.</p><p class="p2">Riddle takes a single step towards him.“Breathe, Harry.”Riddle’s hand comes back up towards him, and Harry flinches jerkily away.</p><p class="p2">“Don’t touch me.”</p><p class="p2">“You’re overreacting.Don’t tell me this is the first time you’ve seen a body.” </p><p class="p2">Harry’s seen corpses before, of course he has.But this isn’t like those, this is…it’s so clean and still, just lying there, as if Scorpius simply decided to lie down for a nap in the sand and might push himself up at any moment now.Harry swallows, says nothing.</p><p class="p2">“Well, Detective Sergeant, this is a body,” Riddle drawls, gesturing a long-fingered hand down at Scorpius.“It had friends and a family, to all of whom you now owe a duty as an officer of the law.Can you or can’t you handle doing your job?”</p><p class="p2">Harry stiffens, ready to bite back a scathing retort, but the intensity of Riddle’s glare settles him—grounds him, somehow.He takes a breath.</p><p class="p2">“Scorpius Malfoy,” Harry makes himself say.“T-ten years old, in the same class with my godson at the local primary school, in year five.Parents are Ginny—Ginevra—Weasley and Draco Malfoy.”</p><p class="p2">Riddle’s expression flickers.“Tell me about them.”</p><p class="p2">It’s easier, somehow, now that he’s started talking, fallen into routine.“Ginny’s the girls’ football coach over at Hogwarts Secondary, the boarding school over in Hogsmeade—that’s the next township over—and helps out at the primary school here when they have events.She… she’s probably at sports day right now.Fuck, I have to call her, let her know—”</p><p class="p2">“And the father?” Riddle interjects smoothly, before Harry can start spiraling again.</p><p class="p2">“R-right.Draco.Runs a beach rental business with Ginny’s brother Ron.They had Scorp young; Gin got pregnant while we were all still at Hogwarts—she was sixteen and Draco seventeen.They jettisoned all their life plans to keep the baby.Molly and Arthur—Ginny’s parents—were supportive, but the Malfoys—Draco’s parents—weren’t happy; they’d wanted Draco to go on to Oxford and be a politician or something.His dad gave him some money to start the business and never spoke to him again.”</p><p class="p2">Riddle raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on that.“You’re close to the family,” he says instead.</p><p class="p2">“Y-yeah, Ginny and I dated briefly before she got with Draco, and Ron’s my best mate.I’ve been close with the Weasleys ever since I started at Hogwarts; I was a boarder, but the entire family went through that school as day students, and I spent a number of holidays with them.They’re like a real family to me.”</p><p class="p2">Riddle doesn’t reply right away, now crouched over the body and examining it with a critical eye.He looks up at the cliffs, brow furrowed.</p><p class="p2">“Was he a happy child?”</p><p class="p2">“What, Scorp?”</p><p class="p2">“No, the other child you can clearly see lying dead on this beach.”</p><p class="p2">Prick.“<em>Yes</em>, he was a happy kid.I mean, I only saw him a few times a week, but I know him well enough to judge that at least.He wouldn’t have committed suicide.Christ, he’s <em>ten.</em>Eleven in a few weeks.”His throat tightens against the realization that that birthday party won’t ever get planned, won’t ever be celebrated.</p><p class="p2">Riddle straightens back up but says nothing, so Harry keeps talking.</p><p class="p2">“Teddy—my godson—and Scorpius are—were—” his voice breaks on that word, that simple change in tense, and he takes a second to swallow down the knot building in his throat, “they were best friends.”He thinks of them running around the back garden of Andromeda’s little house, kicking a ball between gangly legs, fighting over whether Teddy is allowed to marry Victoire—<em>no,</em> shut it off. </p><p class="p2">“Football team.They’re on the primary school football team together, on reserve.Talk about going pro together all the time.Talked.Fuck.”He runs a hand through his hair.“God, they’re meant to be playing in a scrimmage match right now; it’s sports day at the primary school.I have to—”</p><p class="p2">But he doesn’t get to finish that thought.</p><p class="p2">A wail pierces through the air, and Harry doesn’t have to recognize the voice, warped by grief beyond all recognition, to know, with a sinking feeling in his gut, who it is.He turns, and all it takes is the sight of flaming red hair for his heart to sink down to his knees.</p><p class="p2">He realizes vaguely that she’s babbling something as she runs towards them—begging, maybe?—but he doesn’t register the words; all he knows is that he can’t let her see; he kicks his legs into motion; <em>he can’t let her see—</em></p><p class="p2">“No—Gin, please, no, go home, you can’t be here—” Harry croaks, pelting towards her to cut her off.</p><p class="p2">But Riddle gets there first, grabbing Ginny solidly around the waist as she shrieks, shouts, flails against his hold, and then he roughly shoves her back into the arms of the PCs running towards them, where she crumples like a sheet, shaking.</p><p class="p2">“Keep her <em>away</em>,” Riddle says firmly to the two officers over her incoherent sobs.The sound almost makes Harry’s own knees give out, but he swallows down the tremor and stands his ground; he has to be strong here, where she can’t.He grits his teeth and clenches his fists at his sides.</p><p class="p2">“Send her home,” Riddle orders.“If anyone else gets through the cordon before we’re through here…” he trails off threateningly, and the officers half drag, half haul Ginny away.</p><p class="p2">“D-did she… did she see?” Harry asks weakly.</p><p class="p2">“The body’s facing the wrong way, but mothers tend to have a sixth sense for this kind of thing, in my experience.”He pauses, eyeing Scorpius’s garishly colored Weasley jumper with distaste.“I don’t suppose she recognized the jumper?”</p><p class="p2">Harry blanches.“…Fuck, yeah, she definitely did.”</p><p class="p2">Riddle rolls his eyes and turns to Pye, the forensics lead.“Get that covered up as soon as you’re done.Last thing we want is for this to get out to the media because someone recognized a lime-green <em>jumper</em>.”</p><p class="p2">Riddle’s mobile vibrates, and he looks down, reading the message with a furrowed brow.He turns back to Harry, not a hair out of place and his expression as smooth as glass.“Take me up to the cliffs.Forensics has a preliminary report for us.”</p><p class="p3">—</p><p class="p2">“Have you ever been on a murder investigation before, Harry?” Riddle asks lightly as they buckle into Harry’s car, though the answer is probably obvious by the way Harry reacted earlier.</p><p class="p2">The implications of Hermione’s assessment are still running through his head.<em>He couldn’t have jumped</em>, she said, not given how far from the cliff face the body had been lying.And the pattern of rockfall was suspicious, extremely unlikely to have ended up that way naturally if they’d simply broken away off the cliff.Which means that someone laid the body there and arranged it like that, to make it look like it had fallen.</p><p class="p2">Someone had tried to stage Scorpius’s suicide or his accidental death.Because he had died some other way.Ten-year-old Scorpius Malfoy had died somewhere else, under other circumstances, and someone had tried to make it look like a slip-and-fall down the famous sheer cliffs of Godric’s Hollow. </p><p class="p2"><em>Pathology will be able to tell you more after they’ve seen the body</em>, Hermione’s grim voice echoes, <em>but…there’s practically no chance that there wasn’t some sort of foul play involved</em>.</p><p class="p2">Harry’s blood is still running cold from the revelation. </p><p class="p2">“…No,” he answers eventually, since Riddle was decent enough to ask.</p><p class="p2">“It’ll be a good learning experience for you, then.”</p><p class="p2">Harry startles.He takes it back.There isn't a single thing decent about this man.</p><p class="p2">“My friend’s son is <em>dead</em>, and you’re complaining about my lack of experience?And how do you even know it was murder?The death could still have been accidental—he, I dunno, some sick fuck found his body and moved it over to the beach, or something—”</p><p class="p2">“I’ve no interest in your C.V., Harry.And it was almost certainly murder, or at the very least, attempted murder.”</p><p class="p2">“You have <em>no</em> proof for that—”</p><p class="p2">“There were faint strangulation marks around his throat.”</p><p class="p2">“There…what?How would you know?They’ve only just barely moved the body off the beach.”</p><p class="p2">“Because I looked.While you were busy having your little meltdown.We’ll have to wait on confirmation from pathology, but I’ve been doing this long enough to recognize marks of that sort, and I’d be willing to bet a year's salary that asphyxiation was our cause of death here.”</p><p class="p2">“A London DCI’s salary or a Dorset DI’s salary?” Harry asks snidely, before he can stop himself.</p><p class="p2">Riddle turns sharply to Harry, his dark gaze piercing.And then, he his lips curl up into a grin, slow and Cheshire-like, to reveal a row of straight, white teeth.Harry doesn’t manage not to swallow.</p><p class="p2">“Snooping around after your new boss already, Harry?”</p><p class="p2">“…I’ve only read what the media have said,” Harry replies stiffly, obstinately maintaining eye contact, even as it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.</p><p class="p2">“And what have you uncovered?”Riddle doesn’t lean in towards him or anything obvious like that but instead relaxes against the back of the passenger seat, his sharp grin easing into something lazier, subtler.The air inside the car acquires a quality of eerie stillness.</p><p class="p2">“Just that you’re here in some sort of temporary transfer-demotion situation while the ‘dust settles’ around that scandal with Fudge.”Harry wonders if this is what a grouper might feel like talking to a shark…if groupers and sharks were to have conversations, which they wouldn’t.</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Get a grip, Harry.</em>
</p><p class="p2">“Oh, is that all?” Riddle says, an eyebrow raised.He looks bored.</p><p class="p2">“Yes, that’s all, and if you wouldn’t mind, <em>Sir</em>, my friend’s son was probably murdered and then left on a beach, so if we could get back to work—”</p><p class="p2">“He isn’t your friend’s son right now, Detective Sergeant,” Riddle corrects dispassionately, turning away to look out the window at the beach and the onlookers still gathered at the cordon.The sharp line of his jaw shifts slightly, as if he’s biting down on the inside of his cheek. </p><p class="p2">He turns back to meet Harry’s eyes, his gaze nearly black and strangely intense.“He’s the victim in your first homicide case.”</p><p class="p2">Harry swallows, then bites out, “He’s both.He can be both.”</p><p class="p2">Riddle’s nose wrinkles ever so slightly.“How old are you, Harry, just out of academy?”</p><p class="p2">“I’m twenty-seven,” Harry bites back, defensive.“And can’t you just call me Potter, like a normal person?”</p><p class="p2">“Then don’t act like a child, <em>Harry</em>,” Riddle says.“You’re looking for a killer now.”</p><p class="p2">Harry swallows, the gravity of the statement jolting.“He’s a sweet kid.He’s… he’s<em> ten.</em>Who would…”His hands shake where they rest against the steering wheel.</p><p class="p2">Riddle looks over at Harry from out of the corner of his eye, eyes sweeping up and down Harry’s hunched form with an utterly unimpressed air. </p><p class="p2">“Detective Superintendent Moody tells me you’re good—the best young officer he has, and yet here you are, doing a remarkable job of assuring me he’s either a liar or gone completely senile.Are you going to do your job, or are you going to put me to the trouble of finding someone else to put on this case?”</p><p class="p2">Harry’s knuckles tighten on the wheel.He breathes out slowly through his nose.“There’s no need for that, sir.I’m good.”</p><p class="p2">Riddle scrutinizes him carefully with that dark, heavy stare, then jerks his chin towards the road.</p><p class="p2">“We need to inform the family.Drive.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>lol Alec Hardy is a totally soft teddy bear compared to Riddle, huh.</p><p>Comments/criticism/thoughts are always welcome and appreciated, with the <span class="u">following caveat</span>: if you <i>have</i> watched Broadchurch, please be mindful of those who don't know anything about it.  While this fic won't track Chibnall's plot beyond the basic setup, there's probably still quite a bit to be spoiled, so please tread carefully.</p><p>Also, I am American (as should be obvious by my spelling/certain grammar) and am always open to britpicking re: details/colloquialisms!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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